The Other Potter Book Three.

Chapter Sixteen

The Gryffindor Quidditch team, covered in mud were crowded around his bed. Ron and Hermione were also there, sopping wet.

I suddenly noticed how I was dripping with water.

I have great observational skills.

"Willow!" Hermione breathed. Both her eyes were extremely bloodshot. She looked as if someone had been killed. She embraced me in a massive hug.

"Don't even ask me what happened." I muttered into her ear.

We joined the group around Harry's bed - me by George's shoulder - and I listened to the whispers.

"Lucky the ground was so soft."

"I thought he was dead for sure."

"But he didn't even break his glasses."

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."

Harry's eyes fluttered open.

"Harry!" said Fred, who looked extremely white underneath, the mud. "How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" he said, sitting up suddenly.

"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been -- what -- fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," said Alicia, who was shaking.

Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.

"But the match," said Harry. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"

There was a silence.

"I hate you." I informed Harry. Trust him to care more about silly games than his life.

"We didn't -- lose?"

"Diggory got the Snitch," said George. "Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square...even Wood admits it."

"Where is Wood?" said Harry.

I suddenly realized he wasn't there.

"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown himself."

Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly.

"C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the Snitch before."

"There had to be one time you didn't get it," said George.

AWW! He was as good as comforting people as I was....

Okay fine he is better.

I'm crap.

I don't even know what I am talking about.

Every memory from the last half an hour seemed to have been sucked from my memory.

"It's not over yet," said Fred. "We lost by a hundred points."

"Right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin..."

"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points," said George.

"But if they beat Ravenclaw..."

"No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff..."

"It all depends on the points -- a margin of a hundred either way --"

Harry lay there, not saying a word.

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace.

"We'll come and see you later," Fred told him. "Don't beat yourself up. Harry, you're still the best Seeker we've ever had."

The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving. Ron, Hermione and I moved nearer to Harry's bed.

"What happened?" Harry repeated looking from face to face.

Ron and Hermione turned to look at me.

"Well, the Dementors were there...and then I...something...fish..." I said as I realised my memory did not want to repeat what happened.

The three of them looked at me and all I could do was shrug.

Hermione started to speak then, in a quaking voice.

"We saw the Dementors...and it was like Willow knew what was going to happen...she stood up and did some spell and you slowed down before you hit the ground. Then she appeared beside you...Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione continued her voice shaking violently. "I've never seen him like that before. He whirled his wand at the Dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away...He was furious they'd come onto the grounds. We heard him --"

"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," said Ron. "And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were..." His voice faded.

"I don't even remember what I did...Dumbledore was confused too..." I said softly.

Harry looked at our anxious faces and seemed to change the topic.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?"

Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other.

Good question.

"Er --"

"What?" said Harry, looking from one to the other.

"Well...when you fell off, it got blown away," said Hermione hesitantly.

"And?"

"And it hit -- it hit -- oh, Harry -- it hit the Whomping Willow."

Oh God.

"And?" he said, dreading the answer.

"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It -- it doesn't like being hit."

"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," said Hermione in a very small voice.

Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick.

I felt as if the mood was so low that someone was probably going to kill themselves so I said something a bit random.

"As long as Malfoy doesn't start calling me the Whomping Willow."

I got a smile out of them.

Oh.

Yeah.